


Switch

by marlowe_tops



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bisexuality, Coercion, Collars, Condoms, Jealousy, John is a BAMF, M/M, Marking, Mourning, OT3, Post-Reichenbach, Questioning, References to Sexual Harassment, Threesome, d/s dynamics, fictional gender politics, honest discussion of relationship issues, john is a sub, only we can say what's right for us, safeword usage, switch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe_tops/pseuds/marlowe_tops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D/s verse, post-Reichenbach. Greg needs a place to stay and moves in with John while they both mourn. They find their own way to heal, but Sherlock complicates matters--even more so when it turns out he isn't dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a Dom/sub verse with very black and white views on orientation. Warning for possible triggery topics on bisexual invisibility, sexism and queer phobia. There is no actual rape/non-con in this fic, but I have put a warning on it accordingly because of one potentially triggery scene. This was originally intended to be a PWP but then I went ahead and filled it with gender politics and sexual orientation issues. There will still be plenty of sex, and a happy OT3 ending.

“Sir, I’ve got a situation for you.”

Sally hesitated in the doorway, unsure as to whether or not she was welcome and whether or not this was a case that should be brought to Lestrade. She still felt guilty about going over his head on the Sherlock debacle. It made things awkward in their department, but he was willing to pretend that it didn’t. He didn’t agree with what she’d done, but he respected her decision professionally. There were times in his career that he’d had to make similar decisions. She’d done what she thought was right, and he was still proud to have her on the team.

But it was still going to be some time before things between them were friendly again.

“Okay,” Greg said, bracing himself for weird. Sherlock or no, they always brought him the weird ones.

“John Watson’s in lock-up for brawling. They’re probably going to keep him overnight while things are sorted out. And … his emergency contact is still listed as Sherlock. I thought you might want to get involved.”

As a friend, did she mean, or as his handler? He wasn’t Sherlock’s police liaison anymore—or ever again—but he understood why this would be brought to him either way. “Thank you, Sally. I’ll make my way down.”

Friend or handler? he wondered again. Maybe it didn’t matter. The officer in charge was a pleasant, round-cheeked man with a reputation for honesty. Greg shook his hand in greeting. “Constable Green. I heard you had a situation that might concern me.”

“That I do. Doctor John Watson. Started a row in a shop with a bloke twice his size—and won, for what it’s worth. The other guy’s not pressing charges, so Watson’s free to go whenever we feel like releasing him, but we _can_ hold him for twenty-four hours. I know you’re somewhat a friend of his, so I thought I’d bring you in as a consult. We can give him an advisory to attend therapy sessions, or we can let him go with a warning. But we can’t do anything as long as he won’t talk to us.” 

“He won’t talk to you?”

“Not a word. He’s been cooperative ever since we showed up on the scene, but he won’t talk to anyone.”

Greg sighed. Friend _and_ handler, maybe. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“I’ll walk you down.”

John was sitting in the holding cell with his back straight and his gaze focused on the far wall. He didn’t look up when they entered.

“I’ll handle it from here,” Greg said, approaching the cell door and waiting for the guard on duty to open it for him. John still didn’t look up. Opting to disregard that, Greg took a seat on the bench next to him and folded his arms. “I hear you won a fight with a guy twice your size.”

John softened, leaning back a little. “They called you in on this?”

“No one’s pressing charges, but apparently you won’t talk to any of the officers. Mind telling me what happened?”

“Nothing, really. Just your standard harassment. I lost my temper.”

_Just your standard harassment._ He’d heard that enough to know what it meant. All the worse because it was standard. Some days Greg wished he lived in a world where hearing _’and then he backed me into a corner and put his hand up my skirt. You know, just your standard harassment.’_ or _’oh, it was nothing, really. Doms will be doms._ wasn’t an every day problem in whatever case he was handling.

Sexual harassment fell along two axes. There was gender discrimination, targeted at women, and orientation discrimination, targeted at subs. Ninety percent of the crimes Greg had to handle were perpetrated by male doms.

Dom though he was, Greg sympathised. If he’d been the target of any of the kind of harassment he heard reported to him like it was no big deal, he would have started a row in a shop, too. “I’m going to need more detail than that.”

“I was in the cereal aisle at Waitrose, when this guy recognized me from the news and started heckling me. A combination of accusing me of complicity in murders and suggesting that I needed a real man to sort me out. I lost my temper.”

Greg felt a protective tangle in his gut. Subs never stayed unattached for long, mostly because the constant hassling from interested doms was dangerous to their health. He couldn’t blame most of them for finding new partners so quickly—unbonded subs might as well have a target painted on them. And even though the problem was that someone needed to teach the doms that their behavior was wrong, more often than not he found himself recommending the party line on the subject—be careful, don’t go anywhere alone, carry a rape whistle.

They shouldn’t have to carry rape whistles. Greg personally advocated giving them all self-defense classes, so that any dom out of line could get a proper lesson.

“How bad has it been?” 

John glanced over, surprised, and then dropped his gaze to his lap. “Bad.”

“How bad,” Greg repeated.

“I don’t dare leave my house after dark or go anywhere there aren’t crowds.”

Bad. “I’m sorry,” Greg said, even though he knew the words weren’t anywhere near enough.

John didn’t respond. 

“I’ll clear up the paperwork. We’ll have you out of here in an hour.”

“Thanks,” John said. “I appreciate it.”

~

When he came back in an hour, John hadn’t moved.

“Come on,” Greg said, leaning in the doorway and waiting for him to get up. “I’m taking you home.”

John followed in silence as they collected his things and took the elevator down to Greg’s car. 

“You doing okay?” Greg asked, even though he knew he wasn’t.

Latching his seatbelt, John stared out into the darkened parking garage. “Fine. Been seeing a therapist.”

“Is that helping?”

“Nope,” John said, but his mouth quirked slightly to the side. Facial expressions. That was a good sign.

“Didn’t help me either,” Greg sympathised. 

At that, John looked interested. “You went to a therapist?”

“My wife insisted on it. She said it wasn’t healthy, working the hours I do, and then when I was home, I wasn’t … there.”

John fell quiet again. The state of Greg’s ex-marriage was widely known. John had probably known before most of Greg’s coworkers. Sherlock would have sussed it out somehow long before even Greg knew that the end was inevitable.

They drove through London in silence, nursing their shared and private wounds. Everything felt wrong with Sherlock gone. It had for a long time, even before Sherlock took his own life. Their lives had all gone wrong somehow. There was a time when everything made sense, when Sherlock was just this maddening genius who helped him save lives, and that was simple.

Greg didn’t know why he’d jumped. It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t think it ever would. Greg had been on those cases with him. He knew that Sherlock was real. Even if he couldn’t deal with the media backlash, he never thought that Sherlock would be one to take the coward’s way out. Especially when he left so much behind.

“Thanks,” John said, when he pulled into a parking spot in front of Baker Street.

Greg ignored the unspoken _goodbye_. “I’m coming up.”

John didn’t argue. He led the way upstairs, turning on only the two smallest lights in the living room. 

The place was clean. Cleaner than Greg had ever seen it. Everything was folded and put away. All of Sherlock’s clutter was either straightened or missing. But it was still mostly Sherlock’s clutter. Greg had seen the place before and after John moved in, and he honestly hadn’t been able to tell the difference. He could now. 

Sherlock’s presence was still here, in every single curio and book, but it felt more like a museum than a home. Everything felt untouched and unlived in except for the space within an arm’s reach of John’s chair. 

“Tea?” John offered, already putting the kettle on.

“Thanks.”

Greg sank down on the couch, chin resting on his hands as he tried to figure out how he could help.

After a few minutes, John brought over two cups of tea and sat down on the far end of the couch.

“Don’t suppose you want a new flatmate,” Greg asked.

“Sorry?”

“The sale finally went through on the house. I have to be out within the week. I’m in need of a place to stay. I wouldn’t ask, but I can’t help wondering if you’d have less trouble with a dom around.” 

“I can protect myself.”

Greg couldn’t help a grin at that. “I know you can. You won a fight with a guy twice your size and you haven’t got a mark on you. That’s not why I’m offering.”

“Why are you offering?”

“Because you’re my friend, I need a place to stay, and I miss him too.”

John thought about it, sipping quietly at his tea. His eyes strayed down the hall in the direction of Sherlock’s room. “Okay,” he said at last.

They drank their tea in silence. When his mug was empty, John set it aside and stood. “I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to sleep… wherever.”

Left alone in the darkened room, Greg put both mugs in the sink and debated the choice between the couch or the closed door to Sherlock’s room. He lived here now, sort of. Sherlock’s room was going to be his, based on what they’d carefully avoided talking about. But it still felt like sacrilege.

Resolved not to be squeamish, Greg turned the knob to Sherlock’s room and flipped on the light. 

It hadn’t been touched. The sheets were a mess, Sherlock’s dressing gown was on the floor, and a scattering of books took up all but a tight corner of the bed. They’d have to tidy this up and put Sherlock’s things in storage. That wasn’t something he was dealing with tonight.

Shutting the door, Greg found an extra blanket and curled up to sleep on the couch.

~

Greg hadn’t realized how much space Sherlock took up in John’s life until he saw how much space there was to be filled.

John hadn’t held a job once he started helping Sherlock on cases full-time. And now that Sherlock was dead and his reputation ruined, the cases weren’t coming in. John’s laptop was gathering dust. Sherlock’s was even worse. Between coming back from the war and his time being monopolised by Sherlock, John seems to be very low on friends, and he long since gave up trying to find girlfriends. 

Which had always made Greg wonder. It was common knowledge that John was a sub and Sherlock was a dom. At first, John had vehemently insisted—loudly and often—that he wasn’t gay and they weren’t a couple, and he had openly attempted to date half the women of London. As time passed, he stopped correcting people and stopped dating. 

When John started wearing a sleek black leather collar, Greg just assumed that something had changed. It was their business, and Greg was glad for them for whatever sex they were or weren’t having, and whatever happiness they’d found. 

Some days he’d worried, and had wanted to pull John aside and ask. _Just tell me if he’s treating you okay. I know he’s Sherlock and he’s difficult at the best of times, but just tell me that he’s not a complete idiot of a dom._

He hadn’t. 

If he was honest with himself, he knew exactly why he hadn’t. It was because some days he fancied John more than he should, and he knew that any friendly concern he might want to show was almost definitely colored with jealousy. 

They were perfect together, in their odd way. John was an incredible calming and restraining influence on Sherlock, and their banter at crime scenes was both endearing and excluding. Greg got the perpetual feeling that he was intruding on the their crime scenes, rather than the other way around.

The collar had come off once Sherlock had died. That was standard procedure, even in mourning, but it was a complex topic. 

Greg wanted to ask. 

Greg didn’t want to ask.

He just took up as much space in John’s life as was offered.

At first, Greg went with him to fetch groceries. John wouldn’t leave the house if he didn’t have to, so Greg took charge of that, too. When he wasn’t off at work, Greg dragged him out to movies and restaurants. Anything to get his mind off his loss. It helped Greg, too. Marriage gone sour, house sold in the divorce, disgraced at work. The last thing he wanted to do was sit around in Baker Street and think about how much he missed Sherlock.

Maddening, infuriating, gorgeous Sherlock.

Definitely not a topic he wanted to think too much about.

He badgered John into volunteering at a local animal shelter. Anything to get him out and doing things while Greg was at work.

It helped, at first. John’s face got a spark of life to it again, as he talked about the dogs he was working with and the difficulties that the shelter faced. But then he started talking about assisting one of the vets, this cheeky domme who was clever enough to figure out where John’s skills would be best put to use. 

When he brought her home, Greg liked her immediately—or knew that he would have liked her, under different circumstances. She was smart and classy, and took no nonsense. But there were so many little things about her that kept reminding him of Sherlock, it made him a little sick. Greg kept his head down and his mouth shut.

The relationship imploded within a week.

John went straight back to his depressed slump, and barely talked for days. Greg didn’t have the heart to suggest trying volunteer work again. 

When there was an opening for an on-scene medical technician in another borough, Greg pushed him right into it. He didn’t have much in the way of formal forensics training, but his on-the-job experience made him more valuable than a fresh-faced and squeamish young kid fresh out of graduate school. 

It worked. Suddenly John was busy again. When their schedules coincided, they talked animatedly about their current cases, bouncing ideas off each other and making off-colour jokes. 

This time, when Greg worked out that there was a single domme in John’s department who was starting to show interest, he made sure to show up at one of John’s scenes while he was at work. He had no reason to be there, which made it all the more obvious when he stood a little too close to him, and touched him a little too often. Leaving John to it, Greg found an excuse to chat up the domme in question, making friendly, vague conversation with multiple mentions of living with John.

His message was received as it was intended. He wasn’t sure if John noticed what he’d done, but the stories about that particular coworker dropped to the same infrequency as the stories about any other coworker.

He told himself that he was just trying to protect John, and hoped that it was true.

Problem was, John attracted doms like a magnet. When they went out together, people made assumptions and steered clear. But when he was unattended, John had the ability to get the numbers of every dom in the area—and when they were female, he didn’t say no.

So when John came home with another woman, did his best to stay out of the way. He’d interfered when it threatened John’s job (and by extension, John’s progress out of depression), but John’s private life remained none of his business. 

“You’re his flatmate?” she asked, after staying over for the second time in a week.

Greg was grateful he’d had the sense to invest in earplugs. Thin walls. 

“That’s right.” He leaned back against the counter, nursing the cup of coffee he’d just made. He’d offered her a cup, but she declined, and John was sleeping late. Greg wished that she would either wake him up or leave, but she seemed to be resolved to have a conversation.

“You’re a dom,” she said.

He could see where this prompting was going now, and decided not to help. “Yep.”

“But you’re straight,” she continued.

“Bi,” he corrected.

She didn’t even try to hide her eyeroll. “Gay but in denial, you mean? That’s even worse.”

Bloody doms and their bloody prejudices. Greg didn’t even care that he was one of them. They were _infuriating._ “No. I mean bi.”

“This is around the time where you would reassure me that you’re not interested in my boyfriend, and that we’re not going to have a problem.” Her lips were a thin line. Greg took comfort in the fact that she was finding him just as infuriating. He knew what the social protocol was in this situation, and he was blatantly choosing to ignore it.

Savoring his sip of coffee, Greg let her stew. She wasn’t bad, as dommes went. All she wanted was to know where the boundaries fell. It was smart. Any good dom would do the same. Some small part of him itched that he’d love to see her in action. Gorgeous, powerful, graceful. But there was absolutely no way that was ever going to happen, for a whole mess of reasons. “I’m absolutely interested in your boyfriend,” he concluded, sliding his eyes over to stare her down. If she wanted to have a pissing contest to establish dominance, he was in. “But I have the sense to know that it’s a bad idea, because of how much he is _not_ over his ex-boyfriend.”

Let that prickle her pride. _Gay but in denial._ Greg wasn’t forgiving her that anytime soon.

Her eyes narrowed at him, wanting more information but too proud to ask. Fine. Greg could give her more information.

“His name was Sherlock. He was John’s last flatmate. Used to have my room.” Now he was just being mean. He took another don’t-give-a-fuck sip of coffee and watched her twitch. “He committed suicide three months ago. I’m sorry, and I’m aware that your relationship is none of my business, but you may want to consider cutting your losses early. Everything in this room belonged to Sherlock. John hasn’t gotten rid of a single thing, and I don’t believe for a minute that John’s over him after just three months.”

Motion in the doorway caught his eye, and Greg looked up to see John frowning at him with arms crossed. Oops.

Careful not to let his expression change, Greg took another sip of coffee as he considered how to handle the situation. “How much did you hear?”

John’s expression had no forgiveness in it. “Just the last part. I don’t eavesdrop.”

“She was politely asking me to stand down,” Greg explained, honestly. “I was, less politely, refusing.”

“Give us a moment, will you, Greg?”

“Sure.” Pausing just briefly to refill his cup of coffee, Greg saluted them with it and walked downstairs and outside, leaning against the fence as he drank his coffee. Cloudy day but not rainy. Could be worse. 

His coffee was cold but not empty when—what was her name? Mathilde?—walked past him without a word.

Greg finished his coffee before going inside to see how much trouble he was in.

John was sitting on the couch and staring at his hands, silent. Stopping in the doorway, Greg waited to see if he was going to be scolded. When John didn’t say anything, he moved through into the kitchen, poured a fresh mug of coffee and brought it over for his flatmate. John allowed it to be put into his hands, but didn’t drink it.

Leaning back against the table, Greg watched him. “What happened?”

“She asked if I was over Sherlock. I had to tell her the truth.”

“I’m sorry.”

John frowned and lifted his head. “Are we going to have a problem?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t yet.”

Studying him for a moment, John’s gaze slowly lowered again.

“For what it’s worth, if she told you that there’s no such thing as bi, she’s wrong.”

Bemused, John looked up. “What?”

“Sorry. Personal peeve. She asked whether I was straight and I told her I was bi, to which she said that was ‘gay but in denial’, and I got a bit touchy about it. If she gave you any trouble on that topic in particular, she’s full of shit.”

John’s lips quirked. “I didn’t know you were bi.”

“And proud.”

“I don’t know if …” John stopped himself from finishing that sentence.

“I made an assumption about you and Sherlock, and I shouldn’t have. Your orientation is your own business. I just wanted to know that if you are bi, and you’re having any kind of identity crisis about that, you’re not alone and the rest of the world is wrong. And if she in particular was giving you any trouble about it, she was definitely wrong.”

John laughed and shook his head. “This is the strangest pep talk I’ve ever received.”

Greg grinned sheepishly.

“You weren’t wrong,” John said, looking back into his coffee. “Sherlock and I were together. In every sense of the word. And I’m not over him. I don’t think I ever will be.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

Surprised, John’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”

“What did you expect me to say?”

“Most people tell me it’ll get better, I’ll move on, time heals all wounds.”

“Well, they’re wrong.” Greg smirked to himself. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m contrary towards the world today. They’re wrong. It doesn’t get better. You just get better at learning how to deal with it.”

John thought that over. “Who did you lose?”

“My brother.” Folding his arms at the stab of pain that always brought, Greg let himself grieve. “Some days I forget he’s gone, even after all these years. It doesn’t seem possible. Every time I call home, I still expect him to answer the phone, and he’ll still be twenty-two and incorrigible. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I’m never going to. And that Charlie-shaped hole in my heart isn’t ever going to be filled. Nothing compares with the sheer awfulness of that truth. My little brother has been dead now longer than he was alive, and I’m never going to get over it. It’s only been three months for you, and Sherlock… Sherlock’s irreplaceable. I don’t think you should ever have to get over that.”

Taking his time to think that over, John nodded slowly. “That helps, a little. Thank you.”

Wandering over, Greg took a seat across from him on the couch. “Tell me about him.”

“You know about him.”

“No, I don’t. I know about the brilliant, insufferable prick who insulted me at crime scenes. I never saw your Sherlock. A few times I wanted to ask if you were okay with him. If he treated you right.”

John looked shocked. “You thought—“

“Not often,” Greg amended, quickly. “He always seemed to be very … aware of you, even though he usually pretended he wasn’t. But I also knew that Sherlock had a real gift for emotionally shredding people without a thought. I wasn’t sure if he might be hurting you without even realizing it was damage.”

“No,” John said firmly. “Never. Sometimes he was irritating as hell, yes, and occasionally he crossed a line. But I’m not some wilting flower, Greg. If he crossed a line, I let him know about it.” 

“I’ve seen you put him in his place,” Greg said, with a grin at the memory. Sherlock always looked so surprised to be scolded. It was one of his favorite things about John—he usually was such a tame and laid-back sub, but when he got his temper up, the doughtiest dom would quiver.

“He was good to me,” John said, relaxing back into his memories. “He pretended to be such a callous robot, but a lot of it was just his own personal safeguards to keep the world at a distance. Most people don’t react kindly towards what he is, so he built himself emotional defenses and told himself over and over that he didn’t care. I think Mycroft helped. _Caring is not an advantage_ is the family motto or something. Even with me, he spent all his time acting like he didn’t care.

“He did, though. He’s a very physical person. Affectionate, even clingy. Constantly anticipating rejection. When we slept, he tangled around me like a creeper vine. I had to elbow him in the gut whenever I needed to piss. A couple times I accidentally left bruises because he wouldn’t wake up. When Sherlock actually falls asleep, he sleeps like a rock.”

Greg grinned at the mental images. “I’m glad for you. That you had that.”

“I don’t get why he did it,” John said, words laced with pain. “It wasn’t like him. It doesn’t make sense. Sometimes I think…”

“Don’t,” Greg said, very softly. “It won’t help.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know. Me neither.”

~

John stopped trying to date after that, at least for the time being. Greg was grateful for that, for John’s sake and his own, but he didn’t ask.

Little at a time, John’s depression lessened. He worked hard when he was called in on cases, and started to relax and laugh around Greg. He was the best friend Greg had ever had, and it was a constant pleasure to be in his company, even when they were both tired and stressed. If John spaced out sometimes with a heartbroken expression, Greg just gave him the space.

He was falling hard for John, and he knew it, but he also knew that he was not long out of a messy divorce, and John might not ever be over Sherlock enough to want to date another man. So he ignored his feelings and enjoyed the company. 

“Sit,” John ordered, setting Chinese takeaway on the table and giving Greg his no-nonsense face. “We need to talk.”

Greg sat. 

“I found out today that every single one of my coworkers thought you and I were dating.”

Keeping his mouth shut seemed like the wisest course of action.

“Apparently Jo was going to ask me out, but then you showed up and staked your claim in clear enough terms that she didn’t.”

Definitely in trouble.

“I don’t know what testosterone-fueled system of communication you doms have to mark your territory, but I’d appreciate knowing whether or not you did this on purpose.”

“I did,” Greg confessed. There was no way he was going to respond to John with anything other than complete honesty, especially not in a case like this. “After the mess that ended your stint at the animal shelter, I was worried that it would happen again and drive you away from your new job. So I took it upon myself to discourage workplace romance. It was manipulative of me, and I’m sorry. I made the decision on your behalf that you weren’t emotionally stable enough for a relationship yet, especially not with someone from work.”

John frowned, thinking over how he felt about that. Greg dug into the takeaway bag, put the correct box in front of each of them, and helped himself.

“Is that it?” John asked.

Greg went still. “Sorry?”

“I appreciate your honesty and that you didn’t make it into an excuse. I want to know whether or not your intentions were pure.”

Poking at his food, Greg scowled and considered his answer. “I’m not sure. I’ve been asking myself that regarding you for over a year. So I guess the answer is no. Nothing I’ve ever done regarding you has been with completely pure intentions.”

Cheeks reddening, John raised his eyebrows at him. 

“You want me to spell it out? Yes, I’m attracted to you. Yes, I was jealous of Sherlock and yes, I chased Jo off because I was jealous of her. You’re welcome to blame Mathilde on me, too. I’m doing my best to keep it from being a problem. If I messed up, I’m sorry.”

“Are you always this uncompromisingly honest with relationship questions?”

“Yep.” Greg grinned at him. “It’s annoying, I know. I’m sorry.”

“No,” John shook his head. “It’s refreshing.” 

Picking up his fork, John started to eat.

Greg watched him, fond. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. You’re not forgiven, but I get why you did it, and you might have been right. You were probably right. Jealous or no. Next time, talk to me about it.”

Greg gave a mock-salute with his fork. John laughed.

~

“How long have you been bisexual?”

Startled out of the book he was reading, Greg looked up from the couch. “What?”

“Sorry. I can’t help wondering.”

Closing the book, Greg sat up. “I’ve always been bisexual. I’m lucky, because I figured it out young. I went back and forth a dozen times between thinking I was gay or straight before I found out bisexual was an _option_. I even tried going switch a few times, but every dom I dated made my skin crawl.”

“You dated doms?” John’s face indicated he didn’t know whether he was disgusted or fascinated. Greg didn’t take it personally. He kept a pretty tight lid on that little confession for that exact reason. “I’ve never even heard the term switch.”

“I did some research into the scene when I was a kid. It’s pretty rare, and there are two options for someone with Dissociative Orientation Disorder. Support groups and therapy to try and cure you of it, or creepy underground sex clubs to indulge it. Fortunately for me, I didn’t stay curious for long. I identify as bi, and I’ll fight for that one, but I don’t think I’m really a switch.”

John came over and sat down by him. “I always thought I was straight, until… Sherlock.”

“I say don’t worry about it. Be bi, be straight, or just be you and don’t label it. You loved Sherlock. That’s what’s important.”

“Have you ever been with a guy?”

“Not really. Some drunken fumbling, when I was young. There are more straight women in the world than gay men. So I went with what was easier to get.”

“Do you want to?”

There was no way that wasn’t an offer. Greg looked over sharply, studying his face. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You’ve been my supportive and slightly jealous boyfriend for almost three months. I figure either we should break up or make it official.”

“Okay.” Greg grinned, leaning over and taking a light kiss. “We’ll make it official, and take it slow. Sound good?”

John grinned back, the first un-dampened smile Greg had seen on him in months. “Sounds good.”

Shifting around, Greg laid back with his head in John’s lap, and opened his book again. When John smiled and immediately started toying with his hair, he considered the move a success. 

He’d meant it about taking it slow. For the next two days, he gave John light, chaste kisses hello and goodbye, letting his hands brush over John’s back or arms every time he walked past him, but otherwise didn’t make a move, and John didn’t push for anything more.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sure. I’m on my way.” 

Lestrade looked up from the morning paper, curious. They were supposed to both have the day off, and he had a few ideas about what he intended to do with it. “Murder?”

“Murder,” John confirmed. “Not your district, sorry.”

“Unless it turns out weird.” Greg teased. Sherlock or no, he was constantly getting called in to consult on the cases of other boroughs whenever they turned out ‘weird’. Honestly, he preferred things that way.

“I’ll be back when I can.”

“Hang on,” Greg said. Getting to his feet, he walked to stand behind John and put an arm around his waist. His boyfriend relaxed back into him, and Greg took that as a go-ahead. Hand sliding down to cup John’s groin, he pressed a soft kiss to the side of John’s neck, and then bit down, sucking hard at the skin to be sure to leave a vivid mark. John groaned, melting against him, and Greg felt him harden.

Kissing lightly over the spot, Greg watched to make sure it was starting to bruise.

“Did you just mark me?” John asked. There was no objection in his voice, and more arousal than anything else.

“Yes. You’re mine.”

“How am I supposed to go to work when you just turned my legs to jelly?”

“I want you thinking about me,” Greg murmured, kissing his neck again and then gently releasing him, making sure he stayed on his feet. 

“Oh, that’s guaranteed.” Turning around, John leaned up and kissed him heatedly, giving him a grope in revenge before pulling away. “I’ll be back when I can.”

“Hurry,” Greg said, watching him with lust. The mark on his neck was plenty visible. Anyone who had doubts about whether or not John had been claimed would know for certain now.

~

Enjoying his day off, Greg was sprawled in what used to be Sherlock’s chair watching crap telly when John returned. The first thing he noticed was that the mark on John’s neck had darkened to a gorgeous shade of purple. “Anything interesting?”

“Looked like an ordinary mugging to me.” Crossing the room, John dropped down to straddle his lap and steal a kiss, whispering against his lips. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Tell,” Greg coaxed. His hands settled on John’s waist, holding him tightly. 

“I can tell you about how I thought about you pinning me down and shagging me senseless on every available surface in the flat, or we could just do it,” John said. 

“I think I can manage that,” growling happily, Greg tugged John’s jumper over his head, tossing it aside and immediately starting on his buttons. “You are incredibly sexy, you know that?”

“You’re quite the catch yourself.” John ground his hips down, and Greg groaned.

“Your bedroom for this,” Greg ordered, giving him a light push to encourage him. “I want you naked by the time I get up there.”

John’s eyes widened at the orders, shifting quickly into a wide grin as he hopped up and went to obey.

Watching him leave with a happy smile, Greg took his time getting up and fidgeting impatiently before he made his way up the stairs to John’s room. 

The sight that met him was breathtaking. John, naked and blushing, in the middle of his bed, cock full and red where it rested against his belly. Leaning over, Greg pressed a kiss to John’s thigh. “Undress me,” he said, quietly.

Rising smoothly, John stood naked in front of him and started unfastening the buttons of Greg’s shirt. Every few buttons, he paused long enough to kiss the newly revealed skin of Greg’s chest, sweet little kisses that made Greg feel wanted and adored. He’d wanted this for so long, and now he just wanted to be everything that John needed.

By the time John had gotten to the lowest button, he pressed a kiss to Greg’s navel as his knees hit the floor. It was an incredible sight, although Greg didn’t intend to keep him there for long. This needed to be about John tonight. His own pleasure could wait. But his orders were being obeyed, so he rested a hand on John’s head as his belt was unfastened and his trousers pulled down so he could step out of them.

John reached up to grope him admiringly, but Greg took his hand away and kissed it, pulling him back to his feet. “I’m not planning anything rough tonight, but I’d like you to tell me if there’s anything I should know.”

“My safeword’s _cardigan_ ,” John answered. “Just in case.”

“Cardigan,” Greg repeated, thinking of all the cozy sweaters John wore. “That’s cute.”

He got a raised eyebrow in response, which he chose to translate as, _you may have just called me cute, but we both know I could take you in a fight._ That somehow made it even more adorable.

“Back on the bed,” Greg said. There were lube and condoms set out on the nightstand for him already. John had planned ahead. Good.

Climbing on top of him, Greg pressed their erections together and wrapped a hand around them both, grinding his hips forward lightly. John was smiling and content beneath him, happy to take things slow. His John, now. His boyfriend. Greg was determined not to mess this up.

Breath quickened as he lifted his hips in return, John explored his partner’s body with hands and eyes, caressing his hands over Greg’s shoulders and down his sides. That tickled, and he pulled back quickly, gasping out a laugh.

John’s eyes twinkled. “You’re ticklish? Sherlock isn’t—“ Realizing mid-sentence exactly what he was saying, John stopped and went tense.

Leaning down for a soft kiss, Greg smiled. “Tell me.”

“Sherlock wasn’t ticklish,” John said, fond memory in the words. “Not even a little. He may have been really good at hiding it, but I honestly always suspected he’d found some way to desensitize it out of himself. I like that you are.”

Bracing himself on his arms above John, Greg watched his face with a smile. “I like hearing about him.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” 

“I don’t care if it’s weird. I think we’re allowed to honor his memory however feels right to us. Do you love me less than him?”

“Not less. Different.” 

“Then I won’t be jealous.” Greg stole another kiss.

“Stop being so damn reasonable and mature about this,” John teased.

“I love you, too.”

“Good.” John lifted his hips with an impatient whine. “I seem to remember someone promising to shag me senseless.”

“Really? I don’t have any recollection of that.” Pulling away, Greg reached for the lube. John spread his legs at once, deliciously eager. “I’ve only done this with girls, and not often,” Greg warned him, slicking lube onto his hand and letting it warm for a second before he pushed two fingers into John. “I’ll be careful.”

“I’d rather you weren’t.” Moaning happily, John squirmed to get the fingers deeper. “I like it rough.”

“You beautiful slut,” Greg felt that moan thrill through his blood, straight down to his cock. “Rough it is.” 

Twisting his fingers deeper, Greg kept his eyes on his partner’s face, enjoying all the little expressions of pleasure that flickered across it. He fucked his fingers in slowly but firmly, letting John’s body relax and remember that it liked this. It had gone without for months, after all. 

“More,” John demanded, making Greg laugh.

“Who’s the dom here?” he teased, but he added a third finger and pushed them all the way in. Thrusting them in as deep as he could, he was surprised when John suddenly made a choked sound of pleasure and arched off the bed. 

“ _Oh fuck yes there_.”

“Prostate.” Greg figured it out quickly. “I’d forgotten about that.” 

“I’d be _happy_ to show you,” John panted, trying to get Greg’s fingers in deeper.

“Really?” Greg kept up his slow, firm pace and grinned every time John yelped and arched. He normally didn’t talk this much during sex, but somehow—with John—it seemed natural. There was a comfortable understanding in their friendship that translated naturally into the bedroom. “Did Sherlock let you…”

“No. Well, once. He _hated_ it. Dammit, Greg, _please_ fuck me.”

Laughing, Greg pulled his fingers out and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too, now fuck me or I am breaking up with you on the spot.”

Grabbing a condom, Greg slipped it on, wasting no time in lubing himself up and pushing inside. John made a choked moan of pleasure, his legs winding tightly around Greg’s waist. 

“God, you’re eager,” Greg purred, keeping his initial pace slow despite John’s impatience. It worked for about three seconds, until John thrust his hips up quickly, taking him in to the hilt. That made them both moan, limbs tangling tighter as they rutted together. 

“You feel so perfect,” Greg whispered, wanting to swallow every last one of the gasps and moans coming out of John’s throat. 

“More, please, Greg,” John whined back at him. 

Giving in to his begging, Greg snapped his hips faster, earning himself a beautiful moan for his trouble. He set the pace the way he liked it, the way he’d never been able to fuck with women, but John just writhed beneath him and begged him not to stop.

“Touch yourself,” he said, nuzzling his head against John’s shoulder, and John obeyed instantly, his lips spilling over with pleas and praise and Greg’s name. 

“Oh, fuck, please can I come?” John begged, his nails biting into Greg’s back. 

“Almost.” 

John whimpered at that, which made it even better. Greg could feel his body tensing up, pulling itself toward that edge. 

“Now,” he whispered, and John came on the spot. It was an incredible rush, to have John already so attuned to him that he could come with a word, while that tight, wonderful body shuddered and clenched beneath him. Greg held on for only a couple of thrusts before he was coming, spilling himself into the condom and gasping out John’s name.

They collapsed in a sticky pile of limbs. Both of them hugged tight to each other, needing the emotional intimacy even more than they needed the sex. 

After a few minutes, Greg pulled out and tied off the condom, dropping it in the trash. Pulling the blanket up over them, he wound himself back around John, letting him cling and sleep. 

John’s breath evened out quickly, but Greg stayed awake, gazing into space and hoping that he’d made the right choice about the space he’d left in their relationship for his boyfriend’s dead partner.

~

Their relationship was a sweet, comfortable thing of stolen kisses in between working too many hours and discussing their most recent crime scenes. 

John talked about Sherlock in the present tense as often as he talked about him in the past tense, and Greg never corrected him. 

Most days, Greg’s feelings were conflicted on the topic of Sherlock. He had no idea what he should think or feel, or what he should tell John. He oscillated between jealousy and guilt about replacing Sherlock, and agonized over whether his relationship with John was unhealthy or if it was making things worse that he’d given carte blanche to talking about Sherlock even during sex. When it came down to it, all that mattered was that he was happier now, and John seemed to be improving every day. Greg pushed all the other thoughts away and ignored them.

Sometimes John had bad days. 

He would get lost in his thoughts, or curl up in his chair and claim that he wasn’t in the mood for anything Greg suggested. Sometimes he wouldn’t talk for days. Greg just kept them both as busy as he could and didn’t ask.

One day he came home to find John pacing. 

It was different behavior for him, and Greg had no idea whether he should be optimistic about that. He could tell at a glance that something had John frustrated, though he wasn’t sure if it was angry or upset. Hanging up his coat, he waited a moment to see if John would stop on his own. He didn’t. He didn’t even seem to be aware that Greg was there.

Crossing the room to him, Greg stopped him with a hand on his arm and lifted his chin with a touch. “Tell me.”

John met his eyes and winced, turning defensive. After a moment, he took a breath and relaxed, although his eyes skittered away from Greg’s. “I saw him.”

_Sherlock?_ Greg felt his blood run cold. John’s head couldn’t be in a good place if he thought he was seeing Sherlock. But Greg didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. “What happened?”

“I saw a man in a shop. He met my eyes for a moment. He didn’t even look like Sherlock. He was blond, and his face was too broad. But I just knew it was him. Not a doubt in my mind. It was Sherlock.”

“It couldn’t have been him.”

“I know that.” John sighed, sagging into his lover’s arms. “We buried him. I… it keeps bothering me. Why wasn’t it an open casket?”

This wasn’t good. 

_Is this my fault? Have I been encouraging him to hold on to Sherlock more than is healthy?_

“John. Stop that. He’s gone.”

“I know. God, I know. But I know with just as much conviction that I _saw_ him today. I think I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not. When you lose someone, it’s natural to see his face everywhere. But he’s gone, and he’s not coming back. You have to remember that. Hold on to what’s real.”

John clung to him. 

Four months. How long had it taken him after the loss of his brother before he stopped feeling crazy? Greg didn’t remember anymore.

~ 

The next time John mentioned Sherlock’s name in conversation, Greg interrupted him.

“Sherlock used to—“

“Don’t,” Greg said, voice cold. “He’s gone.”

John didn’t speak again that night.

~

John was curled up in his chair with a book when Greg got home. 

Watching him with a smile, Greg set a box down on the table by the sofa before hanging up his coat. 

Attention caught by that, John studied the box curiously from across the room for a few seconds before looking up at his boyfriend.

“Come here,” Greg said.

He saw John relax and accept Greg’s control of the situation, trusting that completely. Setting his book quickly aside, John rose and moved to stand in front of him.

Greg loved how docile he could be. John was strong and stubborn, a ferocious soldier with uncompromising morals. His trust and submission was a precious gift.

Lifting John’s chin for a kiss, Greg led him over to the couch and pulled him down on it to straddle Greg’s lap. “Got you something,” he whispered against John’s lips, nodding toward the box on the table.

Savoring the moment, John picked it up and untied the ribbon. They both already knew what it was. The gift of a collar typically came very early in a relationship, often before the start of sex. He’d delayed because he was unsure about taking Sherlock’s place. He knew John probably still had the collar from Sherlock stashed somewhere safe, and they both knew that most of Sherlock’s possessions were in storage in Mrs. Hudson’s basement.

_How long can I deal with Sherlock as a constant shadow over my relationship?_

The collar inside the box was a simple, tasteful piece of brown leather. Soft and comfortable, but intimate. John’s face lit with quiet happiness. “It’s perfect, thank you.” 

Taking it out, Greg undid the clasp and moved to fasten it around John’s neck. “Are you sure?”

“You’re the best thing in my life,” John told him.

_But am I enough to help you get over Sherlock?_

Greg felt like his life was caught in a rut of comfortable joy and aching guilt. John was simultaneously the best and most painful relationship of his life, but some days Greg felt like they were both automatons, going through the motions of love.

_I don’t know how to fix either of us._

Smiling at him, Greg fastened the collar.

“Fuck me?” John asked.

“Oh, yes.” Greg growled happily, giving John’s ass a swat to encourage him to get up. “Bedroom. Now.”

The sex was also the best of his life. He followed John upstairs, both of them almost running, and caught him in the doorway, hugging him from behind. “I love you.”

John leaned back into him, relaxed and happy. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

“I’m tying you up,” Greg said, giving him a gentle nudge. “Strip for me, lover.”

Grinning, John undressed quickly, climbing onto the bed and spreading his thighs.

Taking his time, Greg retrieved a silk rope from the top dresser drawer. “Arms above your head,” he ordered, securely tying John’s wrists to the headboard before stepping back to admire his work. John was hard already, skin flushed with anticipation. He looked beautiful.

Undressing without taking his eyes off John, Greg crawled forward between his legs. “You look incredible like this. Spread and eager for me.”

Reaching over him to grab the lube, Greg slicked two fingers and pushed them into John.

“Oh god yes please,” John gushed. 

Shooting a grin up at him, Greg pushed his fingers slowly in and out, careful to avoid his prostate. John squirmed and whined for more, but Greg ignored that. Keeping two fingers inside him and using his other arm to hold himself up, Greg kissed his way up John’s cock. Flicking his tongue out for every wet, open-mouthed kiss, Greg made his way up to the head and swallowed him down.

John was incoherent by the time he got there, hips straining blindly for more of the pleasure surrounding him.

Humming with satisfaction around the head, Greg bobbed his head slowly, pausing each time to let his tongue trace over the veins and creases by the glans.

“Oh, Greg, please,” John whimpered, driven mad by Greg’s careful, deliberate oral. Everything he did was to give John pleasure, but he knew full well that John needed it hard and fast.

Greg let him beg, until his sweet moans were irresistibly temping. Pulling his fingers back, Greg grabbed for a condom and more lube, fumbling them on as John begged distractingly.

“Fuck, I want you,” Greg said, lining up and pushing in with one fast stroke.

John gasped, eyes going wide as his body tried to adjust to the sudden invasion, but that didn’t stop him from immediately rocking his hips up for more.

“So fucking amazing,” Greg moaned, leaning over to kiss him as he rutted hard into John’s tight, willing body.

“Say I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Greg replied. “All mine, always mine. Every part of you belongs to me. My precious, brilliant John.”

Greg drew it out, hitting John’s prostate with every thrust and never once touching his dick. It made John melt, keeping him just short of coming. Occasionally Greg could make him come from penetration alone. But usually he drew it out as long as he liked, until John’s begging became truly desperate. When he could feel himself getting close, he wrapped a hand around John’s erection, stroking him quickly to get him off.

John came, babbling his name, his upper body lifting completely off the bed as he arched. It pulled Greg right over, and he came into John, murmuring incoherent praise.

Both of them panting, Greg carefully untied him, pausing in the middle for a kiss. 

“Thank you,” John said, “for my collar. I needed it.”

Greg smiled, heart aching, and kissed him again. “You’re welcome.”

~

In the morning, Greg found Sherlock in the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has a scene that is potentially extremely triggery for rape/non-con issues.

He wandered downstairs in pyjama pants—he’d learned after the first time that Mrs. Hudson had a habit of inviting herself up at any time of day—and stopped short at the sight.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, picking quietly at the strings of his violin and staring into space, as though he’d never left. Greg stared at him, emotions spilling in all directions. After a moment, Sherlock’s eyes snapped over to him, and narrowed.

Cheeks flushing and heart dropping into his gut, Greg leaned hard against the doorframe. Even an ordinary person would be able to figure out that Greg had just walked down from John’s bedroom, well-fucked, and that all the things in Sherlock’s bedroom were now Greg’s. “Aren’t you dead?”

“Evidently not.” 

“How—“

“I’d rather wait for John. I prefer not to explain myself twice.”

Greg rubbed a hand over his face. “God, I forgot what an arse you are.”

“You’re sleeping with him.”

“Yes.” Greg pulled his spine a little straighter, glaring at Sherlock in case he had a problem with that. “I am.”

“He’s mine.”

“You left.”

Sherlock scowled and went back to plucking at his violin.

“Right.” Greg sighed. “I’m going to go get John.”

Sherlock ignored him.

He should be glad that Sherlock was alive. Part of him was ecstatic. A more immediate part of him felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. 

Making his way upstairs, he sat down on the side of the bed and reached out to stroke John’s hair. “John?”

Yawning and grumbling, John stirred. “Hm?”

“Come downstairs. There’s someone you should see.”

That woke him up quickly. It ached that after four months, John was still in denial about Sherlock’s death. Except it turned out the denial was right. “Who?”

“I don’t want to say. Just brace yourself and come downstairs.”

John frowned, studying his face. “Are you okay?”

“No. This is a shock.”

Sitting up, John leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll be right down.”

“Right.” Regretful, Greg pulled away and made his way back downstairs. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he sallied, and was ignored. He leaned against the wall near the doorway, which would put him between Sherlock and John, at least at first. He was sure as hell not giving them the opportunity to be alone, if he had any say in it.

Sherlock stood at the sound of John on the stairs, and something changed in him, turning from bored to predatory. It was beautiful, but also painful.

If John had to choose, Greg had no illusions about which one of them he’d pick. All the same, he wasn’t about to forfeit his own claim until John told him to go.

John stopped in the doorway, looking like he’d been hit. “Sherlock.”

“John.”

“I saw you die.” 

“You saw me fall part of the way,” Sherlock corrected. “The rest was a magic trick.”

“You were _dead_ , Sherlock,” John snapped at him, voice rising. “I took your pulse.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, gaze steady on John’s face.

“Why?” John bit the word out.

“Moriarty had snipers lined up on you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. If I didn’t jump, the three of you died.”

“Hang on,” Greg interrupted, certain he’d misunderstood. “I’m in your top three?”

Sherlock’s eyes flicked over, then back to John. “Yes.”

Sherlock actually cared about Greg’s well-being, and it was obvious enough that Moriarty had figured it out? Huh. He had no idea what to think about that information.

“You could have told me,” John snapped. “You unbelievable prick. You could have _told_ me.”

“I needed you to be convincing.”

“ _Convincing?_ ” John shook his head, reeling. “I _mourned_ you, Sherlock. Four bloody months I mourned you.”

“And how long did it take you to climb into bed with Lestrade?”

John punched him.

Greg felt incredibly vindicated, although the emotion was fleeting.

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” John warned. 

Sherlock touched a hand to his bruised cheekbone, having enough sense to keep his eyes averted. 

Fists clenched, John spun and walked into the kitchen, furiously starting to make tea for the three of them. Greg was genuinely concerned he was going to break something, but knew better than to interfere.

“We were just flatmates at first,” Greg said, if anyone cared. “My house sold. I needed somewhere to live. And now this is my home. I’m not giving it, or him, up.”

“ _Greg_ ,” John snarled warningly from the kitchen.

Sherlock glared at him. Greg glared back, and kept it up until the kettle boiled and John came back, slamming a cup of tea down in front of each of them. 

Greg sat, warily.

“Start at the beginning,” John ordered, so Sherlock did. He explained everything, stopping frequently to elaborate when John had questions, and finished with his return to Baker Street.

“I can’t leave,” Sherlock said. “Mycroft is handling a few last things, but I can’t step outside until that’s settled.”

“Great. So we’re stuck with each other?” Greg groused, which prompted Sherlock to resume glaring at him.

“Don’t provoke him,” John scolded, and stood. “I can’t deal with this right now. I’m going to work.”

John dressed and left with plentiful slamming of doors. Greg made another round of tea, amidst childish scowling at Sherlock. Neither of them spoke.

~

All three of them avoided talking for days. John suddenly found excuses to keep himself at work even later hours, and all but ignored them both when he was home. Greg and Sherlock glared at each other every time they were in the same room. Sherlock slept on the couch and didn’t say a word about it.

John took off Greg’s collar, but he didn’t put Sherlock’s back on. When Greg opened his mouth to ask, John glared at him so sharply that he turned straight around and left the room.

At some point, Sherlock earned himself a new bruise on his cheekbone from getting punched again. Greg desperately wanted to ask what had prompted it, but kept his mouth shut.

It was almost a week before the three of them ended up at home at the same time. 

“He’s mine,” Sherlock said. Greg had lost count of how many times he’d said it.

“You left,” Greg countered, again. “You let him think you were dead. He moved on, and don’t you dare say anything to belittle our relationship.”

He hadn’t, at least, which was surprising and comforting. There had been plenty of _he’s mine_ and _how dare you touch him_ , but none of the scathing commentary that usually accompanied Sherlock’s temper. Greg had no idea what to make of that, but it was a relief. Sherlock was—strangely—insulting him less than what he normally would have, before all this started.

John slammed down the book he was pretending to read. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Greg winced. Sherlock looked suitably guilty, and Greg loved seeing that expression on him, which immediately earned him a glare from John for the gloating.

“Bickering?” Greg explained.

“ _Stop_.”

Greg dropped his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do?” John demanded. “This is gutting me. I’m in love with you both, and all the two of you can do is bicker and glare at each other, or paw and glare at me. You’re acting like children, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do. Obviously you two can’t share, not that I would ever ask that, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to choose between you.” 

Greg kept his eyes on the floor, and assumed Sherlock did the same, from the silence.

“I can’t take this,” John said. He stood and crossed the room, grabbing his coat. “I’m going to go stay with family for a few days. If you two idiots work something out, call me. Otherwise, I’ll be back when I can stand to look at you again.”

Gazing after him as John stormed upstairs, Greg listened to the slamming of drawers as he packed, stormed back downstairs, and slammed the front door behind himself.

Mrs. Hudson swished up the steps seconds later, worrying. “What happened?”

Greg sighed, head low. “We’re still fighting, Mrs. Hudson. John’s fed up with us.”

She frowned, looking over the two of them and fidgeting. It was clear that she wanted to patch them up somehow with tea and biscuits, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I wish you boys would stop hurting each other.”

Trying for a smile, Greg nodded. “So do we, Mrs. Hudson. Don’t worry. Sherlock and I will work it out.”

Patting Greg’s hand and looking worriedly over at Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson nodded and scooted off back to her flat, leaving them in silence.

“He’s right,” Sherlock said, after long minutes of silence. “Your behavior is unacceptable.”

Greg’s head snapped up, glare right back in place. “ _My_ behavior is unacceptable?”

“Yes.” Sherlock matched his glare, but there was something different about it. The petulance was gone, replaced by something much more dangerous. He rose to his feet, crossing over to where Greg was sitting and leaning over him, hands landing on the back of the chair. “You’re being unreasonable and upsetting John.”

“I wasn’t the one who—“

“Get up,” Sherlock ordered. His tone sent chills down Greg’s spine.

Eyes wide and jaw dropped, Greg stared at him. Sherlock took a step back so that he had room to get up, and waited.

Still speechless, Greg stood, maintaining his furious glare at Sherlock.

“Let me see if I can be quite clear,” Sherlock said. He made a grab for Greg. Plenty accustomed to combat, Greg dodged it, only to find that Sherlock had anticipated his dodge and planned for it. Before he had any idea what had happened, Sherlock had both his wrists caught and had twisted his arms around behind his back, effectively trapping him. For such a skinny man, Sherlock was _strong_. He had Greg’s arms twisted sharply enough that struggling would risk dislocating his shoulder. 

“John is mine,” Sherlock continued, voice a low rumble at Greg’s ear. “No one touches my things without permission.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Greg asked. His heart was pounding, and he was freaked to realize that he was more than a little aroused by this.

“No,” Sherlock replied. “Your behavior is unacceptable, and we’re going to fix it.”

Sherlock propelled Greg down the hall toward their not-quite-shared bedroom, holding him firmly when he stumbled, and then pinned him up against the wall, holding his arms above his head. He was predatory and deadly, with an unearthly beauty. Greg stared.

He’d always been attracted to Sherlock Holmes, from when he was a lost kid barely keeping out of rehab by keeping himself distracted solving cases. There was something incredible about him, from his sharp-edged physical beauty to his uniquely barbed personality, he was irresistible. But the twenty-something kid wasn’t a viable romantic partner, and even as he matured and stabilized, Greg knew that two doms couldn’t date without tearing each other apart. His back-burner attraction to Sherlock was just a physical inclination, to be discouraged and ignored.

Except that right now Sherlock was setting off physical and emotional reactions in him that Greg couldn’t identify, and his head was spinning. He wasn’t scared, although he knew that Sherlock was plenty dangerous and only a few shades away from a genuine psychopath. He’d known Sherlock for years, and trusted even his crazier whims and theories. “Sherlock, what the hell?”

Sherlock kissed him.

It was rough and forceful, taking what he wanted. Greg was too shocked to react at first. After a moment, he thrashed, straining at Sherlock’s hold, to absolutely no avail. 

Breaking the kiss, Sherlock chuckled against Greg’s ear. “I think I’m going to have to tie you down.”

The sound that came out of Greg’s throat was absolutely a moan. He was rock-hard, pissed off and half terrified, and very deeply confused.

Shifting his grip on Greg’s wrists to one-handed, Sherlock started unfastening the buttons on Greg’s shirt, popping them open with efficient dexterity.

“Sherlock,” Greg tried again. “You can’t—“

Sherlock sealed his lips over the side of Greg’s throat and sucked. His knees very nearly gave out, and the rest of the sentence he was speaking dropped right out of his head. He made an incoherent sound. Satisfied, Sherlock resumed stripping him.

Twice more, Greg attempted verbal objections, and both times Sherlock curtailed them mid-sentence with incredibly talented and absolutely unfair little tricks that left Greg speechless. Keeping him half-restrained at all times, and giving him a new hickey every time Greg started to struggle against the restraint, Sherlock had him naked in under a minute. Handcuffing his wrists in front of him, Sherlock shoved him toward the bed so that he landed on all fours. 

Reaching over him, Sherlock grasped the back of his neck with a firm hand and pressed down, holding him in place. “Do you understand what’s happening?” he asked, voice steady.

Greg was freaked and had never been so turned on in his life. He felt vulnerable and completely out of control. “No.”

Slightly gentler, Sherlock’s hand rubbed down between his shoulder blades, almost soothing. “Tell me when you do.”

Shaking, mind and body rattled, Greg kept his head down as Sherlock released him. Sherlock’s touch returned a moment later, on his hip, and then he felt cold, wet fingers pressing at his entrance.

“Oh fuck no,” he gasped. “Sherlock, _no._ ”

“Shh,” Sherlock told him, his free hand firmly pressing down on Greg’s back to keep him in place. Two fingers breached him, cold and alien. “I’ve got you.”

“Sherlock, fuck— _cardigan_.”

Sherlock froze.

His hands pulled back, releasing him. Within seconds, the handcuffs were off.

Emotionally raw, Greg was barely conscious of the blanket being pulled over him, and then Sherlock was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

It took him twenty minutes to stop shaking. By the time he could start to process what had just happened, the sky outside was dark. 

Curled up under the blankets, Greg let himself breathe and feel. Sherlock had just gone completely dominant on him, and he’d been turned on by it.

_Switch_ , he thought, not yet sure how he felt about it.

Taking his time, he got up and dressed, letting the scalding water soothe his nerves. Putting on a terrycloth bathrobe, he took a deep breath and went to find Sherlock.

The living room was dark, but he could see the outline of Sherlock standing by the window. “Can I turn on the light?”

Sherlock’s head swiveled toward him. “Fine.”

Flipping on the light, Greg curled up on the couch. “I think I get what you were trying to do. What you were offering.”

Sherlock watched him, silent.

“I thought maybe we could talk about it, like civilized people.”

“You aren’t dominant,” Sherlock said. “You never have been.”

“The term is ‘switch’.”

“Switch,” Sherlock repeated, testing how he liked the word. “Yes. Is it common?”

“I don’t think so, no. How could you tell?”

“Dominant people instinctively display certain patterns of behavior. You mimic those patterns as learned behavior, and you do it well, but you frequently miss some of the subtleties going on around you on a dominant level.”

“Thanks,” Greg grumbled.

“I wasn’t certain of it until you reacted to my advances in a submissive manner. I’m going to need a substantial amount of further data.”

“You’re going to need further data.” Greg laughed. “You know, you could just say that you’d like to try a threesome.”

“Yes.”

Greg felt himself blush under Sherlock’s scrutiny. “Sherlock, I need to know your motives for doing this. Is it actually what you want, or are you just trying to take the easy solution to our relationship problems?”

“If you are asking whether I find you attractive, the answer is yes. I’m aware of the complications facing polyamorous relationships, and I’ve done calculations regarding our specific situation. It’s very evident that your relationship with John was beneficial for you both. The only thing that remains to be proven is whether you and I are romantically compatible.”

“So that’s what you were trying to prove? You could have just asked.”

Sherlock considered that. “You seemed to be in denial regarding your orientation. I needed to evoke a physical response.”

“You could have _tried_ talking, and then evoked the physical response,” Greg persisted.

Sherlock stared blankly at him, which could have been anything from a realization of being wrong to a ‘polite’ disinclination to correct Greg further to outright incomprehension. Greg chose to believe the former. It was less infuriating. 

“Okay,” he sighed. “Can we … try again?”

A pleased and slightly predatory grin curled Sherlock’s lips. “Is it advisable to obtain John’s approval?”

Getting to his feet, Greg nervously approached. “I think this situation is a case of better to ask forgiveness than permission. If it doesn’t work out, I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

Sherlock nodded his understanding. Stepping forward, he settled his hands on Greg’s arms, holding him firmly. “What are your limitations?”

“I have no idea. This is all new to me. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop. I… I do want to try anal. I keep promising John that I’ll let him, but we always get… distracted.”

Fond and amused, Sherlock pulled him in and kissed him. He was an incredible kisser. Warm and confident, he explored Greg’s lips and tongue, finding out what made him moan. Hands sliding down to Greg’s arse, Sherlock pulled him possessively close.

It was all so different. Greg was used to taking control of the situation, so it was difficult to let go and trust. His relationships with doms had all gone poorly, and even though he knew that he had been young and those doms hadn’t known what they were doing, it still made him wary.

But this was Sherlock. Brilliant, infuriating, gorgeous Sherlock. If he was ever going to let himself be submissive, it was going to be with Sherlock.

Everything was much gentler this time, which was a relief. As much as Greg thought he might enjoy having Sherlock be aggressive sometimes, and while he understood that Sherlock had been pushing intentionally to get a reaction, he needed things slow right now. Fortunately, that was exactly what Sherlock was giving him.

“Undress me,” Sherlock murmured, gently placing Greg’s hands on the front of his shirt. 

Greg felt like a blushing bride, which he hated. Starting quickly on Sherlock’s buttons, he nipped at Sherlock’s lips in return, playful and challenging in order to regain some of his pride.

Surprised by the playful resistance, Sherlock grinned, moving his lips down Greg’s throat in a series of bites and kisses until Greg’s knees faltered.

“Very sexy,” Sherlock praised him, the warm air from the words tickling his now-sensitized skin. 

“Christ, Sherlock.” Groaning impatiently, Greg got his shirt off and tossed it aside, reaching for Sherlock’s trousers. “You said you’re attracted to me,” he prompted.

“I am,” Sherlock confirmed, opening the belt on Greg’s robe and pushing it off his shoulders. “I always have been. For a very long time I was confused by my reaction to you.”

“Me too.” Kissing Sherlock’s chest as he fumbled with the zipper, Greg impatiently got his trousers down, stopping to admire Sherlock’s length.

“Good?” Sherlock asked.

Licking his lips, Greg nodded, eyes caught on Sherlock’s erection. “Can I…?”

“Not right now.” Smiling warmly, Sherlock took another kiss. It was amazing how reassuring he could be, considering he spent most of his time being such a callous prick. “This is about you.”

Reaching down to grope him, Sherlock kept their bodies close so that his own erection pressed hot against Greg’s thigh. “Bedroom,” he ordered, between kisses.

“Yeah. Yes. Right.” Dazed, Greg let himself be turned around and guided down the hall to the bedroom.

Sherlock stopped him briefly at the side of the bed, kissing his bare shoulder. “Hands and knees.”

Blushing deeply, Greg went to it. Tense and nervous, he held himself up on his elbows, arse in the air.

Keeping greg aware of his presence by warm gentle touches as he moved around, Sherlock kissed the small of his back affectionately, then pulled away to fetch a few things out of Greg’s line of sight.

“Sherlock,” Greg said, unsure. 

“Tell me everything you’re feeling,” Sherlock said. “I want to know all of it.”

Greg nodded, shivering with nerves.

“Breathe,” Sherlock reminded him, feathering a few soft kisses along his spine. 

Greg breathed, trying to keep breathing as he felt something cool and hard pressing against his anus.

“I’m here,” Sherlock said, reassuring, as he pressed something inside Greg. It wasn’t a finger, like he expected, although it was about as wide as his thumb. Sherlock slid it in and out slowly, working deeper each time. 

“What is that?”

Sherlock answered by turning it on.

Gasping, Greg rolled his hips back in aroused surprise. The thin vibrator inside him was on low, which set a light buzz through his muscles, relaxing and arousing. Interested in the sensation, Greg spread his legs a little wider, feeling himself start to harden again. 

“Good,” Sherlock promised, pushing it in further until it brushed Greg’s prostate and made him groan.

“Oh, _christ_.” Was this why John was always begging for it? Hips stirring back gladly, Greg shivered, already wanting more.

“We’re going larger,” Sherlock warned after a few minutes, taking the vibe out and sliding a larger one in. This time, Greg _wanted_ it.

The thicker one was about the size of three fingers, large enough that it hurt. It ached, confusing pleasure and pain, but as long as he kept moving, the pleasure was more than the pain. Sherlock set the vibration on this one slightly higher, enough to make Greg buck and gasp for more. Incredibly turned on, he barely recognized the incoherent begging coming from his lips. 

After a few minutes, Sherlock switched the vibe off, leaving it deep inside him. “Talk to me.”

Greg struggled to find words. “Good. Doesn’t hurt anymore. I can take more.”

“You’re going to take me,” Sherlock told him. 

Greg nodded, wanting to touch himself but knowing that he didn’t have permission. “Yes. Please.”

The vibe was pulled out, replaced by something warm and thick. Greg shuddered as Sherlock pushed into him, overwhelmed by pain, pleasure and emotion. Surrendering to it, he just let himself trust. Sherlock would make everything good.

Sherlock pushed in to the hilt, wrapping an arm around Greg’s chest and just holding him there. “You’re mine.”

“Yes.” Taking deep breaths and trying to adjust to the feeling, Greg nodded. “You aren’t wearing a condom, are you?”

“No.” Sherlock nuzzled at his hair, pulling his hips out and back in for a slow thrust. “I don’t wear them with John. If you’re with us, I don’t intend to wear them with you.”

Making sure of how he felt about that, Greg nodded. He trusted them both completely. It was okay for Sherlock to make that decision.

“You said you’d promised this to John,” Sherlock reminded him, keeping up the slow, steady thrusts. 

“Yes.”

“I’m going to let him. I want to see him take you.”

Greg felt his heart flip with want. He was starting to understand how this was going to work. They both belonged to Sherlock. And as long as that was true, Sherlock wasn’t going to be jealous about sharing. It sounded like he intended to _supervise._. And oh, that was hot. 

Maybe this could work out after all.

“Oh, fuck, I’d like that.” 

Sherlock rumbled with pleasure in his ear, reaching down to stroke him. “You’re mine. All of this, all of you, is mine.”

“God yes,” Greg panted, grinding his hips back for more. Sherlock gave it to him, slightly increasing his pace and making sure to aim every stroke against his prostate.

Greg felt his orgasm building long before it hit. It was like a slow rumble in his gut, spiraling out through his muscles with warm tingles. Completely focused on that perfect arc of pleasure, Greg couldn’t find the words to warn Sherlock before he was coming in a blinding haze of pleasure. 

Continuing to slowly fuck him, Sherlock’s hips slowed as Greg came down from the orgasm, and finally pulled out. Kissing between Greg’s shoulders, Sherlock fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom and came back to clean him up.

“You didn’t come,” Greg said, curling onto his side and letting Sherlock pull the blanket up over him.

“Hm? No,” Sherlock agreed, dismissing it as unimportant. He climbed into bed next to Greg, sharing warmth and watching him. 

Exhausted and content, Greg smiled back at him.

“We need John,” Sherlock said. “He’s hurting.”

It took half a second for Greg to realize that Sherlock was asking how to handle the situation. “I’ll call him. Give me a few minutes to recover.”

Sherlock nodded, leaning over to kiss him. He got up and fetched their clothing with unusual tidiness (after a moment, Greg figured out it was in consideration of what John would see when he returned), setting Greg’s phone within reach. Smiling at that, Greg made the call.

“Hello?” John’s voice had a frown in it.

“We worked it out,” Greg told him. “Come home, please.”

John sounded suspicious. “You two haven’t killed each other?”

“Come home. I’ll explain everything. It’s going to be fine.”

There was a long silence on the other end. “Okay.” 

Greg shut the phone. “He’s coming. We need to get dressed.”

Trusting Greg in this situation, Sherlock dressed. He helped Greg button his shirt, despite complaints that he could do it himself.

Walking gingerly, Greg moved to the living room. The two of them sat together in silence, knowing there was nothing they could do but wait to find out if they were in trouble.

Both stood at the sound of the door downstairs.

“Let me,” Greg said.

Sherlock sat.

Greg met John on the stairs, stopping in front of him. John looked up, eyes widening as he saw the hickeys all over Greg’s neck. “ _Oh._ ”

“You remember what I told you, about switches?”

“Yes.”

“Sherlock got it into his head to prove the point.”

“I can see that.”

“Are you okay with this?”

John gave him half a smile. “I might be.”

“Come in,” Greg said. “Let’s talk.”

Sherlock looked like a hopeful puppy as they walked in, only barely restraining himself from pouncing. “Les—Greg and I believe we can share.”

“You can share?” John repeated, disbelieving, directing that comment at Sherlock alone.

“Yes.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“I get to have you both,” Sherlock explained.

John fought a smile. “You’re sure. Both of you.”

“Very sure,” Greg said. He put a hand on John’s back, propelling him very gently toward Sherlock. John stepped forward, reaching out to wind his arms around Sherlock and hug him tight.

Greg hesitated, suddenly unsure. They looked so perfect together, and he wondered if he should give them a moment alone.

Sherlock’s arm snaked out, catching Greg’s wrist in a tight grip. “Mine.”

John caught up a moment later, reaching for Greg with a smile. “Both of you,” he repeated.

Returning the smile, Greg stepped into their embrace. John kissed him, grinning. “Want to help me show Sherlock how much we missed him?”

“Oh god yes,” Greg grinned back at him. Sherlock looked intrigued and very slightly concerned about their conspiracy.

“I have an idea,” John said, leaning up for a lingering kiss with Sherlock, his arm still tight around Greg. “We should…” he said, breathlessly, when the kiss broke.

“Bed,” Greg finished for them.

Giggling like teenagers, the three of them tripped over each other on their way down the hallway, tumbling onto the bed in a pile and unfastening each other’s clothing with enthusiastic clumsiness. John supervised, with some kind of plan in mind, and pushed Sherlock down on his back, hovering over him to steal kisses. 

“You’re cute when you’re bossy,” Greg teased.

“Yeah?” John grinned up at him, cheeky. “Good. Kiss.” He nodded in Sherlock’s direction to make the order clear.

“Kiss?” Greg blushed, but didn’t lose his own grin. “Yes, Captain.” 

Kissing Sherlock was so very different than kissing John. John was all friendly, eager warmth, playful and sweet. Sherlock’s kisses were predatory, luring him in and then pulling some incredible, mind-blowing little trick that made him moan. He was in the middle of doing just that when suddenly Sherlock moaned, breaking the kiss.

Greg looked over to see John going down on Sherlock, and grinned wide. “Oh, that’s a pretty sight.”

He’d been on the receiving end of one of John’s generous, brilliant blowjobs, so it was a pleasure to watch him using those techniques on Sherlock, and even more of a pleasure to watch Sherlock’s flawless composure crumbling because of it. 

Wiggling around, Greg put his head down next to Sherlock’s cock, catching John’s lips for a kiss next time he lifted up. Sherlock groaned, obviously enjoying the view. Getting the idea that this was something like what John had meant by his ‘idea’, Greg kissed and licked up the side of Sherlock’s cock alongside John, lips and tongue tangling with John’s every so often, especially near the head. 

The sounds Sherlock was making were just delicious. 

John showed him how to play with Sherlock’s balls, both of them goofing off and making Sherlock twitch and scowl at the distractions. He’d never seen either of them like this, and it was an incredible honor to be included. Getting lessons from John (along with demonstrations) of all Sherlock’s weaknesses, he got to just relax and play, enjoying John’s humour and Sherlock’s pleasure. 

Coaching Greg to get Sherlock to come in his mouth, John leaned over and kissed him in reward, sharing the taste of Sherlock in between their mouths in a way that gave Greg an immediate fetish for it.

“The two of you together are incorrigible,” Sherlock complained, dizzy and sated, watching them kiss for a few moments.

“John, on your back,” Sherlock said, very softly, when he had started to recover.

Breaking the kiss, John shifted onto his back and spread his knees, watching curiously to see what Sherlock was planning. 

Sherlock kissed them both briefly on the way up, opening the drawer where they kept the sex toys and taking out a vibrating butt plug. Enjoying the view, Greg watched as Sherlock lubed it up and slid it gently into John, turning it on a low setting. “Good?”

“Good,” John confirmed, relaxed and aroused at the same time. 

“Same for you,” Sherlock ordered, eyes on Greg. 

Surprised, Greg obeyed. For him, Sherlock pushed his knees shut, instead fastening a cock ring around the base of his erection, checking that it was as tight as he wanted it and then kissing him for reassurance. Sherlock was all business, some plan very clearly in mind. Leaning over John, he whispered something into his ear that made John grin from ear to ear. “Oh, yes.”

“Get on all fours over him,” Sherlock said, tapping Greg’s hip to encourage him to move. “Kiss.”

Happy to comply, Greg rolled over, straddling John’s thighs and starting to kiss him. He wanted to know what Sherlock had whispered, but he felt certain he was going to find out soon enough. 

“Fingering him now,” Sherlock said, for John’s benefit, as he slid a long, slender finger inside Greg’s arse. His hands were warm, and it felt good, especially with John kissing him lovingly at the same time. Sherlock worked much more efficiently than he had earlier, stretching him open and loosening him up. He felt sore, but whatever Sherlock was planning, he wanted it.

Sherlock had three fingers hilt-deep inside him and Greg was moaning loudly enough that Mrs. Hudson was going to make some sort of flustered commentary in the morning, when Sherlock leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I want you to ride him.”

“God yes,” Greg groaned, shifting so that he could lower his hips as Sherlock helped to guide John’s dick up inside.

“Oh yes good,” John said, hips lifting up into Greg’s body. The two of them found a rhythm between them, as Greg slid down and John thrust up, broken every so often by a sharp thrust up from John that made Greg shudder. Sherlock dropped onto the bed next to them, just watching, with a pleased and possessive expression. 

They fucked slowly, interrupted now and then by affectionate orders from Sherlock. 

Absolutely self-satisfied, Sherlock leaned over, whispering in John’s ear loud enough that Greg could hear clearly. “Want to come inside him?”

“Yes please,” John groaned, arms wound tight around Greg’s waist. “Can I?”

“Yes. Not him, though. Not yet.” Sherlock’s eyes flicked up to meet Greg’s, grinning wickedly, before he returned his attention to John. “Now.” 

John arched and came, filling Greg up with sharp, rough thrusts that felt so good, and Greg found himself begging for more. 

But John was spent, dropping sleepily back into the covers. Greg whimpered, knowing full well that Sherlock was hard again and suspecting he knew what came next.

“More?” Sherlock asked, nipping roughly at Greg’s ear. 

He wasn’t going to be able to sit down tomorrow, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes. Please yes.”

Sherlock took him at his word, moving swiftly behind him and pushing in with one smooth stroke. Sherlock was bigger, and Greg yelped, but his body knew exactly what it wanted, hips already squirming back towards Sherlock. 

Taking him with long, hard strokes, Sherlock held his hips firmly, pulling him back into each thrust. 

Greg’s dick felt swollen and heavy, aching to come, but the ring around the base of his cock held him back, and the lack of direct stimulation kept him from overcoming that. Making desperate, inhuman noises, he dropped his head onto John’s shoulder and gave in to the sensations.

“God, you were right,” John breathed, admiring. His hands rubbed encouragingly over Greg’s back and shoulders. “You are a switch. It’s fantastic, seeing you like this. So damn sexy.”

Greg shuddered, winding his arms tighter around John. 

“Very good,” Sherlock said. “And all mine.” His hand dropped down around Greg’s cock, pressing some kind of quick release on the cock ring at the same moment as he whispered in Greg’s ear. “ _Now_.”

The most intense orgasm of his life slammed into him, rough waves pounding through him. He barely felt Sherlock fucking into him as he climaxed for longer than he thought possible. His ears were ringing when he came down from the high, dizzily aware of Sherlock pulling out of him and laying down beside with a proud smirk.

“Now you have both of us inside you,” Sherlock said, pulling Greg over and cuddling him. John followed, tangling his limbs with the other two and cuddling close. 

“I love you,” Greg whispered, breathless.

“Both of you,” John finished for him, stealing a kiss.

~

When Greg got home from work the next day, he was greeted at the door with a kiss from John, and presented with a box from Sherlock.

Greg blushed at the box, looking over at John and noting that he didn’t have either collar on. Not sure how he felt about what he suspected was in the box, he let himself be hauled to the couch and cuddled together with his boyfriends as he opened it.

Inside, there was a woven leather collar made from strips of black and brown leather, and a pair of black leather cuffs.

Greg stared at them for a moment, not quite getting it.

“The collar goes on John,” Sherlock helped.

Black and brown. Greg picked it up, realizing that Sherlock had found a leathersmith to rework John’s two collars into a single one. The cuffs were for him. 

Touched, Greg gently reached out, carefully fastening the collar around John’s neck and earning a kiss for his trouble. Then Sherlock caught one of his wrists and John took the other.

“A collar would have been wrong for you,” Sherlock said, kissing the join between Greg’s neck and shoulder as he fastened the black leather around Greg’s wrist. 

“They’re beautiful,” Greg breathed. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

John kissed the other side of Greg’s neck, reaching over his lap to twine his hand with Sherlock’s. 

Wiggling comfortably into the embrace, Greg grinned to himself, wondering how long it would take for one of them to suggest sex.


End file.
